The King Beyond the Gate

The priest lashed his mount and Ananais, close behind, bellowed, 'You'll kill the beast, you fool!' Katan ignored him, bending low over the horse's neck. Ahead was an outcropping of rock; Katan dragged on the reins and leapt from the saddle, racing into a narrow cleft. Ananais drew his sword and followed him.

Inside the cleft lay two dead Joinings, black-feathered arrows jutting from their throats. Ananais ran on. Another dead beast, shot through the heart. He rounded a bend and heard the sound of bestial growling and the clash of steel on steel. Hurdling three more bodies, he turned a corner with sword raised. Two dead Joinings lay before him, a third live beast was attacking Katan, and two others were engaged in a grim struggle with a man Ananais could not see.

'To me, Dragon!' yelled Ananais. One of the two Joinings turned on him, but he blocked a savage cut and plunged his sword into the beast's belly. Its talons lashed out and he threw himself back as his men raced in, hacking and cutting. The beast went down under a score of blows. Katan despatched his opponent with consummate ease and ran forward to assist the warrior, but it wasn't necessary. Pagan hammered his axe through the beast's neck and sagged back to the path.

Ananais ran to him, to find Pagan's body was a mass of wounds: his chest was ripped open, flesh hanging in bloody strips.

His left arm was almost severed and his face had been mauled.

The black man's breathing was ragged, but his eyes were bright and he tried to smile as Ananais cradled his head in his lap.

'There are children above,' whispered Pagan.

'We will fetch them. Lie still!'

'For what, my friend?'

'Just lie still.'

'How many did I get?'

'Nine.'

'That's good. I am glad you came — the other two would have been. . difficult.'

Katan knelt beside Pagan, laying his hand on the bloody head. All pain vanished from the dying warrior.

'I failed in my mission,' said Pagan. 'I should have gone after Ceska back at the city.'

'I will get him for you,' Ananais promised.

'Are the children all right?'

'Yes,' Katan assured him. 'We are bringing them out now.'

'Don't let them see me. It will frighten them.'

'Have no fear,' said Katan.

'Make sure you have Melissa's rag doll. . she would be lost without it.'

'We will make sure.'

'When I was young I ordered men into the fire! I should not have done it. It is a lasting regret. Well, Darkmask, now we will never know, will we?'

'I already know,' said Ananais. 'I could not have felled nine Joinings. I would not have thought it possible.'

'All things are possible,' said Pagan, his voice sinking to a whisper. 'Except the passing of regret.' He paused. 'Scaler has a plan.'

'Can it work?' asked Ananais.

Pagan grinned. 'All things are possible. He gave me a message for you, but it is useless now. He wanted you to know that ten thousand Delnoch men were on the march. But they arrived before I could.'

Ceorl pushed his way through to Pagan, kneeling by his side with tears in his eyes.

'Why?' he said. 'Why did you do this for us?'

But Pagan was dead.

Ananais took the lad by the arm. 'He did it because he was a man — a very great man.'

'He didn't even like children.'

'I think you are wrong there, boy.'

'He said so himself. We irritated him, he told me. Why did he let himself get killed for us?'

Ananais had no answer but Katan stepped forward.

'Because he was a hero. And that is what heroes do. You understand?'

Ceorl nodded. 'I didn't know he was a hero — he didn't say.'

'Maybe he didn't know,' said Katan.

* * *

Galand took the death of his brother hard. He withdrew into himself, suppressing his emotions, his dark eyes giving no hint of the agony he felt. He led his men on several raids against Drenai cavalry, hitting them fast and withdrawing at speed. Despite his desire to wreak vengeance upon them he remained a disciplined warrior — not for Galand the reckless charge, only the calculated risk. Among his three hundred men, losses were light and they cantered to the walls of Magadon having left only thirty-seven of their comrades buried back in the hills.

There was no gate at Magadon and the men released their horses and scaled rope ladders let down by the defenders. Galand was the last to climb the ramparts and at the top he turned, gazing back to the east. Somewhere there the body of Parsal was rotting on the grassland. No grave, no marker.

The war had claimed Galand's daughter and now his brother.

Soon it would claim him, he mused.

Strange how the thought struck no terror in him.

Among his men were another forty who had suffered wounds. He went down with them to the timber hospital where Valtaya and a dozen women tended them. Galand waved to the blonde woman and she smiled, then returned to her work stitching a shallow cut in a warrior's thigh.

He wandered out into the sunlight where one of his men brought him a loaf of bread and a jug of wine. Galand thanked him and sat down with his back to a tree. The bread was fresh, the wine young. One of his section leaders, a young farmer named Oranda, joined him. He had a thick bandage on his upper arm.

'They said the wound was clean — only six stitches. I should still be able to hold a shield.'

'Good,' said Galand absently. 'Have some wine?'

Oranda took a mouthful. 'It is a little young,' he said.

'Maybe we should lay it down for a month or two!'

'Point taken,' said Oranda, tilting the jug once more.

For a while they sat in silence, and the tension grew in Galand as he waited for the inevitable comment.

'I'm sorry about your brother,' said Oranda at last.

'All men die,' answered Galand.

'Yes. I lost friends in his force. The walls look strong, don't they? It's strange to see walls across this valley. I used to play here as a child and watch the wild horses run.'

Galand said nothing. Oranda handed him the wine-jug, wishing he could just get up and walk away, but he didn't want to be rude. When Valtaya joined them, Oranda greeted her with a grateful smile and slipped away.

Galand glanced up and smiled.

'You are looking lovely, lady. A vision.' She had removed the blood-drenched leather apron and now wore a dress of light blue cotton which moulded to her figure beautifully.

'Your eyes must be tired, blackboard. My hair is greasy and there are purple rings under my eyes. I feel wretched.'

'In the eye of the beholder,' he said. She sat beside him, laying her hand on his arm.

'I am truly sorry about Parsal.'

'All men die,' he said, tired of the repetition.

'But I am glad you are alive.'

'Are you?' he asked, his eyes cold. 'Why?'

'What a strange question for a friend to ask!'

'I am not your friend, Val. I am the man who loves you. There is a difference.'

'I am sorry, Galand. There is nothing I can say — you know that I am with Ananais.'

'And are you happy?'

'Of course I am — as happy as anyone can be in the middle of a war.'

'Why? Why do you love him?'

'I cannot answer that question. No woman could. Why do you love me?'

He tilted the wine-jug, ignoring the logic.

'What hurts is that there is no future for any of us,' he said, 'even if we should survive this battle. Ananais will never settle down to married life. He's no farmer, no merchant… He will leave you in some lonely city. And I shall return to my farm. None of us will be happy.'

'Don't drink any more, Galand. It is making you melancholy.'

'My daughter was a joyous creature and a real rascal. Many's the smack I laid on her leg and many the tear I wiped away. Had I known how short her life was to be… And now Parsal… I hope he died swiftly. I feel it in a very selfish way,' he said suddenly. 'My blood runs in not a single living being, bar me. When I am gone, it will be as if I never was.'